“Eileen.”
Marchioness Cecile’s voice came softly, and before Eileen realized it, her mother had quietly appeared by her side.
She wore a deep purple gown—subdued yet elegant—with a calm smile on her face, her gaze warm as it rested gently on her daughter.
Gracefully, she extended her hand toward Eileen, her voice low but clear enough to break the tense atmosphere: “May I have the honor of inviting my daughter to a dance?”
Clutching at this lifeline, Eileen almost immediately and without hesitation placed her hand in her mother’s warm palm, a genuine smile with a hint of relief finally blooming on her face—her first of the evening.
“Of course, Mother.”
Fredrika’s smile faltered briefly, but she quickly regained her composure, eyes flickering with amusement as she watched Marchioness Cecile.
Vera silently withdrew her hand, her gaze dimming as she slipped quietly into the shadows of the crowd.
At the center of the dance floor, Eileen and her mother moved in time with the gentle music.
Marchioness Cecile’s movements were elegant yet strong, firmly guiding her daughter.
“Eileen,” Cecile whispered close to her daughter’s ear, her voice heavy with regret, “I’m sorry… for everything I put you through before. In the capital… I only wanted to harden you, to show you the true nature of people, to make you stronger… but I never expected it would push you to such a place, making you endure so much you never should have…”
Her voice caught slightly, “Seeing all you’ve done in the Holy City… and seeing you stand here now… Mother is truly proud of you. You’ve done far better than I ever imagined.”
Her remorse was like warm water, washing away the cold, frozen corners inside Eileen’s heart.
Leaning gently against her mother’s shoulder, she soaked in the long-missed warmth of pure familial love.
The two spoke softly, sharing moments after their impending separation, and for a brief time, the heavy burdens between them seemed to lighten.
As the song came to an end, Eileen was still immersed in her mother’s affection when her younger sister Aila bounded over like a light-footed fawn and playfully bowed.
“Sis, my turn now!”
Eileen smiled and reached out her hand, letting Aila pull her back into the dance.
Aila’s movements were lively and spirited, brimming with youthful energy.
“Sis, you just go off to the Empire without a worry!” Aila twirled around and leaned close to Eileen’s ear, her voice low and earnest, meant only for her sister, “Back here in the kingdom, there’s still Mother and me to take care of everything! After all, I am the second young lady of the Cecile family!”
Watching her sister’s attempt at maturity, Eileen couldn’t help but chuckle, the gloom inside her lifting a little as she squeezed Aila’s hand gently.
“Alright then, I’m counting on you, Aila.”
While Eileen danced with her family, savoring this fleeting warmth, a storm was silently gathering at the far side of the ballroom.
Fredrika, the Empress, held her wine glass with a lazy yet dangerous poise, like a lioness perched upon her throne.
Her emerald eyes scrutinized with unabashed mockery as they rested on Vera—also surrounded by kingdom nobles yet looking peculiarly isolated.
“The Crown Princess doesn’t seem to be in good spirits?” Fredrika’s voice was low but sharp, “Is she lamenting what she’s about to lose?”
Vera lifted her head, pale but striving to maintain the dignity befitting her status.
Yet the exhaustion and pain in her eyes were impossible to hide.
“Your Majesty speaks in jest. I mourn the soldiers who died and the displaced civilians.”
“Hah,” Fredrika chuckled with the arrogance of a victor, “Mourning? Or perhaps mourning the very person you pushed away with your own hands? Eileen now belongs to me.”
She deliberately emphasized the word “me.”
Vera’s body tensed instantly, her fingers gripping her wine glass until her knuckles turned white.
Forcing herself to meet Fredrika’s provocative gaze, her voice trembled with restrained emotion.
“She went with you out of political necessity! Her heart remains with the kingdom! You may have her body, but you will never have her heart!”
“Oh?” Fredrika raised an eyebrow, her smile growing even more seductive and confident.
“Time will prove everything, my dear ‘Will’ Princess. Given enough time, her heart will belong to me. As for you…”
She stepped closer, her voice like a poisoned blade of ice.
“A person who once abandoned her in front of thousands, who humiliated her, and who can’t even reveal their true gender—what right do you have to speak here about her heart?”
Vera was struck like lightning, her face turning as pale as paper.
Her lips parted and quivered, but no words came out.
Fredrika’s words were a sharp dagger, piercing the deepest wounds and heaviest secrets in Vera’s heart.
She could only glare at Fredrika, her eyes brimming with humiliation and unspeakable pain.
As Eileen and Aila spun, skirts swirling, the dance nearing its end,
Eileen caught a fleeting flash of something cold and resolute in Aila’s eyes—a stark contrast to her usual innocent brightness.
Aila?
Before she could question it, a loud crash shattered the moment.
Boom! Crash—!
The grand stained glass window on one side of the banquet hall exploded!
The harsh sound of shattering glass and piercing howls instantly ripped apart the illusion of peace.
Several black shadows shot through the broken window like specters, followed by a few monstrous creatures exuding an abyssal aura, their forms grotesque and terrifying.
Their target was unmistakable—the nobles inside the banquet hall!
“Protect Her Majesty!”
“Enemy attack!”
“Monsters!”
Screams, roars, and the crashing of plates and glasses erupted in a chaotic chorus.
The once magnificent ballroom instantly transformed into a battlefield of disorder!
“Vera!” Fredrika drew the sword at her waist without hesitation.
This was no mere ornament, but a magical rapier pulsing with powerful enchantments.
Her emerald eyes blazed as she glared fiercely at Vera, who had also drawn her sword in surprise.
“Is this your kingdom’s sincerity? An assassination attempt against me?!”
“It’s not me!” Vera shouted in shock and anger, parrying an attack from a black-clad assassin, “I had no idea! Look carefully! They’re attacking the kingdom’s people!”
With one swift strike, she impaled a Demon Wolf lunging at a certain kingdom count.
Fredrika’s gaze swept the room, confirming that indeed the assassins and monsters primarily targeted kingdom nobles.
The strange turn of events left even her momentarily stunned.
What was going on?
Amidst the chaos, a cold smile curved Aila’s lips.
These assassins and monsters had been arranged by her, in her capacity as High Priestess of the Blasphemers organization.
The kingdom nobles who had spoken ill of her sister, filled with hatred? Sister was magnanimous and didn’t hold grudges, but Aila would not so easily forgive!
This was the perfect opportunity to eliminate those troublesome pests!
As for the monster she had secretly guided to attack in the direction of her sister—
Aila’s eyes gleamed with malicious anticipation.
She wanted her sister to see clearly who would truly come to her rescue in the face of real danger—the hypocritical Empress or the Vera who had once abandoned her?
Most likely, neither would risk anything beyond saving themselves.
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